


Look How We've Grown

by ungoodpirate



Series: Say You Won't Let Go [3]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam and Ronan becoming parents, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Ronan typical language, and building things, child neglect in character backstory, domestic as fuck, emotionally mature Ronan, engineer Adam, nonchronological, parenthood is a big theme, reference child neglect/abandonment, veterinarian Ronan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 12:56:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13411707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ungoodpirate/pseuds/ungoodpirate
Summary: “I have thought about it,” Ronan said, dropping his chin to stare at Adam. “A lot. The future… I see it, and you’re there. I’m a veterinarian, and you’re a lawyer-slash-engineer, and we argue about whose turn it is to take out the trash. We live in this stupid house that’s probably a fixer upper so it’s always in the fucking middle of a renovation project, but even after we could move out, we stay. Because by that time, we’ve already invested our goddamn heart and souls into it.”--When Ronan Lynch finds an abandoned child outside his animal hospital, he is moved to want to become an adoptive/foster parent, but due to his childhood experiences, Adam is filled with doubt over his own ability to be a parent.Spanning college life to parenthood, and including everything marriage proposals and home renovations in between, this is a story about Adam and Ronan building a relationship, a life, a house, and a family.





	Look How We've Grown

**Author's Note:**

> "We've come so far my dear  
> Look how we've grown  
> And I wanna stay with you until we're grey and old" 
> 
> -Say You Won't Let Go, James Arthur

**Then**

 

_ With a sigh, Adam slammed his dorm room door shut behind himself, then startled at the sight of a lean, leather jacket-wearing figure stretched out on his bed.  _

 

_ “Ronan -- How did you --?” _

 

_ Ronan sat up, threw his long legs off the side of the bed. “Your roommate let me in.” _

 

_ “My roommate hates you,” Adam said. _

 

_ “Your roommate is afraid of me. There’s a distinct difference.” _

 

_ Adam looped the strap of his bag over the back of his chair.  _

 

_ “You seem irritated,” Ronan said, pushing up on his elbows. “Get an A minus?” _

 

_ “Haha,” Adam said. He paced the short length of his room. “It’s my faculty advisors. They’re getting on my ass.” He had two, one for each major. “They want me to pick engineering or pre-law. Both of them say they want what’s best for me, but they pretty gunning for their department. The only thing they agree on is that the world doesn’t need a engineer-lawyer.” He dragged his hands down his face. “I wish they would just back off for a second while I figure it out.”  _

 

_ “They kind of have a fucking point,” Ronan said. “You have choose by graduation. Before, really, if you’re going to apply to law school.”  _

 

_ Adam shot a sharp little gaze in Ronan’s direction. Like he hadn’t thought of that, like he hadn’t been thinking about it.  _

 

_ “Alright,” Ronan said, sitting up completely, settling his boots on the floor. How many times would Adam have to tell him not to put his shoes on Adam’s bed? “Let’s doing the fucking nerd thing, make a pro-con list. But first you’re going to need to sit your ass down because you’re gonna give me a headache with all that pacing.”  _

 

_ Face as stubborn as cement, Adam pulled out his desk chair, making sure it screeched against the tile floor, and plopped down on the seat. The corners of Ronan’s mouth wavered between flatline and curved up, both unimpressed and very amused.  _

 

_ “What do you like about the law?” Ronan said, lowering his voice to comic deepness for ‘the law’ part.   _

 

_ “I’m good at it,” Adam said.  _

 

_ “And what do you like about engineering?” _

 

_ Adam tilted his head. “I’m good at it.”  _

 

_ “Okay, you’re like a genius workaholic freak,” Ronan said. “You could be good at fucking anything. We got to cross this one off the list.” _

 

_ “I’m not good at driving stick,” Adam said. This time the flatline-curved duality fought over his expression instead. _

 

_ “That’s because you never take it seriously --” Ronan cut himself off, taking a prolong inhale through his nostrils.  _

 

_ “Just like you and bicycles,” Adam said, shaking his head.  _

 

_ “That’s different! Stick is just putting your brain to work to remember the gears. Riding a bikE is a physical skill --” _ __  
  


_ “Easy as riding a bike is an actual expression!”  _

 

_ “Stop! Stop trying to distract me,” Ronan said. “We’re dealing with your issues right. Especially the one where you’re such an overachiever you can’t choose just one intensive major.”  _

 

_ Adam hung his head. It weighed heavy. “Growing up, I always wanted to be a lawyer.”  _

 

_ “Why? Some lawyer come to career day?” _

 

_ “No…” Adam shifted in his chair. “I only ever saw them on TV. People respected them. They wore fancy suits and lived in big cities in loft apartments… I know now that’s not true for all lawyers, but it could be true for me. If I do everything right.”  _

 

_ “So you  want to be rich?” Ronan said. “I can solve that for you. Just be my trophy husband.”  _

 

_ Adam shot Ronan another look; he wasn’t in the mood for levity.  _

 

_ Ronan muttered a swear. “And why do you want to be an engineer?”   _

 

_ “When…” Adam squeezed his hands on his knees. “When I understand how something works, how to take it apart and put it together again, how it all goes together, and I’m the one that’s doing it… I feel in control. I feel…” It was how he had felt bent over the guts of a car back in his hometown when it was his spare job, when exactly none of his life had been in his control, the contentment he found standing there.  _

 

_ “But…” he said. “I don’t want have wasted all my time in college just to be a fancy mechanic.” Boyd -- his boss at the autobody shop -- had offered more than his part time job. He had offered for him to go on the road for the summer. Had offered a full-time position after he graduated high school. But Adam had dedicated himself towards another path. One out of town and to higher education. _

 

_ Ronan scoffed. “An engineer isn’t a fancy mechanic. It’s why they make you get a four year degree.” _

 

_ Adam didn’t reply. He had already said enough. Too much, even.  _

 

_ “It’s your decision,” Ronan said. “But it sounds to me that one of them makes you happier, and the other one… that you’re just in it for the prestige… But like I said, it’s your fucking decision.”   _

 

_ Adam sucked in a breath as he let this knowledge sink over him, and he knew it was true. He could imagine his future life as a lawyer, working himself to the best in law school, and then working his way up in a firm, always striving for perfection and successful in the next task, the next case, the next year… and it maybe never being enough. Or, be an engineer. Graduate and get a job, and right away be part of the process of making something new, going home each day with a satisfaction that he played a part in an act of creation.  _

 

_ “But I’ll never have my name on the side of a law firm,” Adam said, “On the front doors.”  _

 

_ Ronan said, “You could have your name on a bridge.”  _

  
  


**Now**

 

The irony of their married life, Adam thought as he took the turn onto Centre Street, was that Ronan had turned into the workaholic and Adam was the one who managed maintain a work-life balance. 

 

Adam had left work at his architecture firm a little have five, stopping to chat with the receptionist on the way out. He stopped at the deli down the street to pick up some subs for dinner. Then he headed out to take the slightly longer way home that would drive him right past the animal hospital. Adam could tell if Ronan was still there or not by how many lights were still on. Given today it was light up like noon inside Adam parallel parked right out front and used his key to let himself in. 

 

“Ronan!” he called out from the waiting room. “I got dinner. And some news.” 

 

He rounded the the front desk and went into the back, spying Ronan in one of the spaces he expected him -- in his office. He hated paperwork, but it was a necessity to have a legal and functioning business. 

 

Behind his desk, at frustrated work, Ronan was not. He was kneeled in front of his office chair. And in that chair a little blonde-haired girl. Adam wrinkled his nose. He hadn’t thought anyone else was here. He hadn’t heard anyone?   

 

Adam knocked on the open door frame to get attention. And got it he did -- Ronan jerking his head up and the little girl recoiling into the cushions. 

 

“It’s alright,” Ronan said to her, so softly, before standing and coming over to Adam. 

 

“Who’s this?” Adam asked. “Where are her parents?” Had Ronan somehow taken on a babysitter role for one of his customers? 

 

Adam cocked his head to look past Ronan’s shoulder. The girl was a bit scraggly looking, worse for wear, but Adam had looked that way himself at her age. 

 

“Her name’s Opal,” Ronan said, voice low as not to be overheard, glancing over his own shoulder to check on her. “I found her in the alley.” 

 

“She’s… lost?” Adam said, because that was the best of the horrible possibilities. 

 

“There was a note pinned to her shirt,” Ronan said. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “A whole ‘forgive me world but I can’t take care of this girl anymore’ deal. It’s on my desk.” 

 

Abandoned. 

 

Adam felt like his entire insides were coated with tar. “And they left her in a fucking alley.” He had been in that alley before. It was not a rundown sidestreet, but an alley in all of its clichest and grossest namesake. 

 

“I don’t know. Maybe she wandered down there.” Ronan said. “She hasn’t talked much.”

 

“I have food,” Adam said suddenly, remembering, shoving the bag forward. He had brought it for a purpose, to share an easy dinner with his husband as told tale of his work success. Now it had a new purpose. “She can eat it.”

 

If she was going to be scared and wet the evening’s rain and abandoned, she didn’t have to be hungry too. 

 

Something faintly smile-like wavered over Ronan’s expression. He took the offering. Adam sagged against the doorframe as he watched Ronan carry it over, kneel again before the girl, and speak to her in a smoothing, gentle tone he had curated dealing with injured animals and twice used to soothe Adam through a panic attack.

 

“Here, my friend got you food,” Ronan said, taking the styrofoam tray out of the plastic bag and flicking open the lid to reveal a sub sandwich and fries. “You don’t have to eat anything you don’t want to. Pick off the pickles. Whatever you want, okay?” 

 

The girl nodded and mouthed the word ‘okay’ without breaching a sound. 

 

Ronan came back to Adam as she picked apart the sandwich, eating it piece by individual piece: tomato, a slice of provolone, thin-sliced turkey.

 

“Have you called the police yet?” Adam asked. “Or… Social Services.” 

 

“I’ve barely just gotten her to trust me enough to get her inside,” Ronan replied. He ran his broad hand over his tired face, and up over his short hair. “At one point I started to tell her I had puppies in here and then realized it was something a fucking pedophile would say. It wasn’t a great moment.” 

“If you hadn’t found her…” Adam said. He hadn’t been here. He hadn’t been bearing this, and he was already exhausted.  A heart could get worn out so fast. And Ronan…

 

Adam reached out his fingers to skim Ronan’s arm. Ronan had been here the whole time. 

 

“I’ll call,” Adam said. He turned away to go find a corner to make the call where the girl couldn’t overhear. And maybe also to press his forehead into the plaster for a minute or five to try and compose his emotions first. 

 

Ronan caught his arm. “Wait,” he said. “Look.” He cocked his head to the side. 

 

The girl had sagged into the corner of the chair, asleep. 

 

“We’re going to call, and some stranger is going to come and wake her up and take her somewhere else tonight, when we just got her to feel safe?” Ronan said. “Shouldn’t we wait until tomorrow?” 

 

The pre-law side of Adam said no. The little boy who Adam once was, who had never once felt safe, said something else. He said, “Okay. Tomorrow.”  

 

**Then**

 

_ The quad, they all called it. It was just a great, big patch of lawn between a square of sidewalks which often got taken over by ultimate frisbee and the rec soccer teams in the fairer months of the year, like this one. Today, however, it was only inhabited by a few patches of people: two girls sitting cross-legged and reading; a cluster of a half dozen laid out on the cool grass under the sunshine, several criss-crossing it as a shortcut, and a phantom Adam hadn’t expected. Ronan Lynch, pale as glass, hidden in the shade where he was tucked against the trunk a young tree -- all the younger for the towering, ancient oaks that populated most of campus. _

 

_ Adam hefted his bag on one shoulder and made his way over to him. _

 

_ “Stalking me now?” Adam said.  _

 

_ Ronan raised one of his thick brows. “I should ask you the same question. I was here first.”  _

 

_ “I was at the career office,” Adam countered. It was the basement of the building lining the eastern edge of the quad.  _

 

_ This wasn't news. He probably qualified as a frequent flyer there now.  _

 

_ “I was talking about you with the guidance counselor again,” Adam said.  _

 

_ “Should I be jealous?” Ronan challenged.  _

 

_ “No,” Adam said, because nevermind she was attractive, married thirty something that wore her button down blouses unbuttoned just one button too low to be strictly professional. Nevermind Adam had his heart and attention sunk into the boy sitting before him. Adam doubted Ronan would like the conversation they had been having anyway. _

 

_ Adam took a seat on the cool earth beside Ronan, and raked his fingers through the full grass. _

 

_ “I wonder how much of our tuition money goes toward lawn maintenance,” Adam said. “Because, frankly, I’d rather it go to the service staff.”  _

 

_ “Adam.” Ronan said, and no more.  _

 

_ Adam sighed. “I told her about focusing my job search in the cities where your applying to veterinary schools. She said planning my future around my significant other was crazy.”  _

 

_ She hadn’t used the word ‘crazy’ for she was more professional that, but she had said it ‘wasn’t the wisest decision’ and challenged him to think about the what ifs they couldn’t find their futures in the same cities, and also she was hopeful that Adam was one of those students who was actually wise enough to understand this concept.     _

 

_ “Doesn’t mean we can’t fucking try,” Ronan replied, not nearly as perturbed as Adam. Not perturbed at all. Just casually flippant about the road bump, just as he was casually flippant about driving over actual road bumps, because if his car got damaged he had the money to fix or replace it.  _

 

_ Adam rubbed at back of his neck. He had crick from falling asleep on his desk last night. _

 

_ “But what if we don’t get offers in the same place?” Adam said. Across the lawn, one of the two reading girls craned her head back and let out a peal of laughter.  _

 

_ “Then I’ll go wherever you want to go and I’ll apply again the next year,” Ronan said, as easy as throwing back a drink.  _

 

_ Adam stared at the side of his head. “I can’t ask you to do that.” _

 

_ “You didn’t ask. I volunteered.”  _

 

_ Adam noted quite consciously that Ronan didn’t suggest the opposite, even in parity. That Adam could go without prospects to whatever place Ronan was in vet school and scrounge for a job there. He knew that Adam couldn’t afford to turn down a good offer. He wouldn’t ask that of him. _

 

_ “It’s crazy for you to plan your future around your boyfriend too,” Adam countered. Ronan made everything sound so easy, and -- god -- Adam hoped it was easy. He hoped their planets aligned, but Adam at his core had contingencies, planned for the worst as well as the best. Hoped, but only so far.  _

 

_ Ronan tilted his head back to view the sky through the peaks between the tree leaves. “The solution’s fucking obvious then… Let’s get married.” _

 

_ “Ronan --” Adam scolded.   _

 

_ “Maybe it’s crazy to plan your future around your boyfriend. It’s not crazy to plan it around your husband.” _

 

_ “You can’t just say things like that without thinking.”  _

 

_ “I have thought about it,” Ronan said, dropping his chin to stare at Adam. “A lot. The future… I see it, and you’re there. I’m a veterinarian, and you’re a lawyer-slash-engineer, and we argue about whose turn it is to take out the trash. And we have lots of sex in our own bedroom without worrying about being interrupted.”  _

 

_ “Oh, of course,” Adam interjected dryly.  _

 

_ Ronan barreled on despite Adam’s interruption. “We live in this stupid house that’s probably a fixer upper so it’s always in the fucking middle of a renovation project, but it was all we could afford while I was still in vet school, but even after we could move out, we stay. Because by that time, we’ve already invested our goddamn heart and souls into it.”   _

 

_ “You really have thought about it,” Adam said.  _

 

_ “I don’t want anyone else,” Ronan said. “And I don’t want a future without you in it.”  _

 

_ Adam shut his eyes. The future Ronan had just painted with words were now vivid inside his mind. He could see it.  _

 

_ “The house’ll be in some historic, yuppie part of town,” Adam said. “And you’ll hate it. And I’ll work too many long hours because I don’t know the definition of moderation --”  _

 

_ Ronan hush-laughed. “Not if it bit you in the ass.”  _

 

_ “And you,” Adam continued. “Would probably have like fifteen pets, and they’ll probably always be interrupting us during sex.”  _

 

_ Adam reopened his eyes, and it was just in time to see Ronan maneuver up on his knees by Adam’s side.  _

 

_ “What’re you doing?” he asked, and he felt he might know, if the triple skip of his heart meant anything.  _

 

_ “Got to be kneeling for this,” Ronan said, and he reached out to curl his hands over Adam’s/ Adam couldn’t think, couldn’t breath. Just as he knew what was happening, he knew what he was going to say.  _

 

_ “Adam Parrish,” Ronan said. “Will you marry me?”  _

  
  


**Now**

 

Before he entered the front door, Adam geared himself to some sort of sour surprise. The scorch makes of a small fire or Ronan with his leg in a cast. It wasn’t scientific, but Adam held on to the notion that bad things came in waves. 

 

Instead, he found Ronan working on the balusters -- those little pillars that ran up the length of the stairs supporting the banister that Adam had never knew the name of because he grew up in a house without stairs. It was the latest DIY project they had left dangerously unfinished about a month ago. 

 

Ronan at work meant something, just as Ronan speeding meant something, although different things.

 

“How’d it go?” Adam asked, as he shut the front door softly behind himself. 

 

Ronan removed a skinny nail he had held between his teeth. “First off, social services is worse than the fucking cable company.” 

 

Adam squinted. “Late?”

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Have you been sitting on that one all day?”

 

“Fuck yes.” 

 

“And when they finally arrived?” Adam prompted. He leaned against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. Ronan lined the nail up at an angle at the top of the baluster and taped it carefully in.

  
“The social worker was actually kind of cool. She reminded me of Blue.” 

 

“I’m going to tell Blue you said that. ‘Actually kind of cool.’” 

 

“Of course,” Ronan said, as he wrapped a fist around the baluster and gave it a shake to test its steadiness. “Then it got fucking depressing.” 

 

“Huh,” Adam said, but it was less of a comment on what Ronan had said and more that he was saying it. He was usually... less forthcoming. 

 

“You know… Kids lost in the system. Not enough foster home. Not enough good foster homes. Enough to make you fucking hate the world.” 

 

Ronan pulled himself up from sitting with the now-stabilized banister then plodded down the staircase until he was level with Adam. 

 

“I have a serious question for you,” he said. 

 

Adam squared up his shoulders and gave Ronan his attention. “Alright.”

 

“What do you think about adoption?” 

 

Adam opened his mouth and shut it again. He should’ve guessed it would be something like this, after all of Ronan’s talk. 

 

“I -- Um. I didn’t know you wanted to have children” His arms came to be knitted-crossed tight across his stomach. 

 

“I didn’t know either,” Ronan said. “Until last night.” 

 

“It’s not a fast process,” Adam said. “There’s all kinds of legal stuff. Paperwork. Background checks.” 

 

“I know,” Ronan said. “I was talking to the social worker. She said it was faster if you became a foster parents first --” 

 

“That’s still not a fast process,” Adam countered. “Months. Opal could placed with a good family by then.” That was what he was talking about, right? Opal. 

 

“I know --”

 

“And that’s only if they don’t find her actual family. Her father. Grandparents. They always go with blood family first.” 

 

“I know,” Ronan said louder. “It’s not just about Opal.” He cricked his neck, stared at the ceiling for the length of a second, then said, “Yes, I want to help her. But this is about all the other kids like her out there. Kids with no goddamn parents or bad parents, who need a home. A good home. And we could give that to them.” 

 

This was Ronan Lynch, who pulled all-nighters with sick animals at the hospital, brought home others when the hospital was at capacity, never turned away a customer if they couldn’t or if they never payed. This was Ronan Lynch, who had walked Adam home drunk and put him to bed the first night they met, who invited him home for Thanksgiving after just a few weeks of dating because Adam had nowhere else to go, who had been faithfully Adam’s for years now. This was the man he married, the one who he fell in love with, the one who frustrated him and made his life meaningful and full. Of course, he’d save a little girl and have his heart be moved. 

 

But Adam Parrish was a different man than Ronan Lynch. 

 

Adam said, “I’ll have to think about it.”   

  
  


**Then**

 

_ A bang then a swear rang out from the other room. Adam went to investigate.  _

 

_ Ronan stood by the stripped plywood wall, t-shirt sweat-stuck to his back, hammer discarded by his foot, and thumb stuck in his mouth.  _

 

_ “You alright?” Adam asked.  _

 

_ “I hit my fucking thumb,” Ronan said, removing the finger from between his lips.  _

 

_ “Can you move it?” Adam came closer to inspect, taking Ronan hand in his own and turning it over for inspection. It was red, but the fingernail wasn’t split. He should be fine. _

 

_ Adam wasn’t a doctor and hadn’t studied anything along those lines, but working as a car mechanic in his youth he had experience his fair share of accident finger hitting, jamming, and smashing.  _

 

_ “Yes,” Ronan said stubbornly, giving it a little wriggle.  _

 

_ “We should get some ice on it,” Adam said. He latched a loose hand around Ronan’s wrist and lead him towards the kitchen.   _

 

_ “Why are we fucking doing this?” Ronan said, as Adam riffled through the freezer.  _

 

_ Adam turned around with a handful of ice wrapped in a dishrag. He raised his eyebrows. “Because you promised me a stupid fixer-upper.”  _

 

_ “Because I was trying to be romantic,” Ronan grouched. “I have enough money to buy a nice house.” _

 

_ “This is a nice house,” Adam said. He took hold of Ronan’s injured hand again and pressed the homemade ice pack to his throbbing thumb.  _

 

_ Ronan hissed, then said, “You just called it stupid.”  _

 

_ “Well, I think it’s nice.”  _

 

_ And Ronan thought so too, Adam was sure, when he wasn’t frustrated with the work of being a handyman. While Ronan’s inheritance was enough to bankroll a lavish lifestyle, Ronan himself wasn’t austentatious with his tastes.  _

 

_ “It’s nice because you’re in it,” Ronan grumbled.  _

 

_ “Trying to be romantic again?” Adam said, flicking his eyes up to catch Ronan’s.  _

 

_ “More than trying,” Ronan said, staring straight back. He was very good at not blinking.  _

 

_ Adam leaned in to claim Ronan’s lips with his own. While Ronan’s taste might not be austentatious, Adam still appreciated the compromises Ronan had made for Adam’s comfort, knowing that Adam would want to contribute to their life and lifestyle even though Ronan’s inheritance could’ve bought the house outright instead of just covered the down payment. (“You’re the only person I know who wants a mortgage,” Ronan had groused at him. “We’re building credit!” Adam had countered).  _

 

_ “Ow,” Ronan muttered into Adam’s mouth.  _

 

_ Adam pulled back, realizing he had been crushing Ronan’s injured hand between them.  _

 

_ “I need this fucking hand,” Ronan said, taking over the ice from Adam. “I’m going to be an animal doctor. If I lose this thumb during renovations, that’s my career over before it starts.”  _

 

_ “But that’d be okay,” Adam teased. “You could be my stay at home husband.” _

 

_ “A layabout?”  _

 

_ “A trophy husband.”  _

  
  


**Now**

 

Ronan was silent about it for a week after that. Ronan knew Adam was a thinker, an analyzer, a planner. That his decisions were rarely based in the gut but in the brain. He would give Adam both the time and space to think.

 

Maybe Adam hoped he wouldn’t have to think too hard about it. That with the some time and space Ronan’s enthusiasm for the idea would decline. It was not that he was flaky, but that being a short-term hero was a different responsibility than the long-termness of parenthood.

 

Then he found the pamphlets. In the drawer where they kept the take-out food menus. 

 

“You’re serious about this,” Adam said, as he flicked through one about foster parent classes, as Ronan entered the kitchen. 

 

“I’m seriously thinking about it, yeah,” Ronan replied, crossing his arms in a way that was almost definitely defensive. 

 

Adam flipped the pages, feeling the edge of the glossy pages against the pad of his thumb more than he comprehended when he saw. 

 

“I know you’re still thinking,” Ronan said. “And I’m not trying to rush a fucking answer out of you, but… is this something that is even a possibility to you. Or should I just forget it.” 

 

“We’ve never talked about this before,” Adam said, plopping the pamphlet right back in the drawer. He had come in here for Chinese food.

 

“We’re talking about it now,” Ronan said. 

 

His appetite had shifted. Adam pushed the drawer closed. The warped wood made it stick halfway.

 

Ronan stepped closer. He spoke in a quieter voice, like extra privacy was needed in their own home. Maybe it was extra intimacy. 

 

“I don’t need a decision,” he said, as soft as cotton. “But I need to know where your head is at.” 

Adam jammed the drawer shut with force. 

 

Not looking at Ronan, he said, “I can’t be a parent.” 

 

Ronan said nothing. Adam wanted him to argue. Then, he would have something to rage against other than himself. 

 

“I can’t,” Adam said, daring a peak at Ronan’s face, his steady-held expression. “I don’t know how to be a parent. I’d… I’d mess it up.” 

 

There. The truth of it. 

 

Ronan pressed the back of his hand, his warm knuckles, to Adam’s cheek, just above his jaw. A familiar touch. Soft, yet Adam ached to lean his full weight into it. 

 

“You think I know what I’m fucking doing?” Ronan said. 

 

“It’s different,” Adam said. “You had parents who loved you.” They might’ve died too soon, but love was the overriding fact. Adam didn’t have any conception of an even passable attempt at parenting. He hadn’t at relationships either, growing up, but at least since he had friends to watch go through breakups and mistakes and working things through. At least he got to go through practice runs himself. There was no room for practice runs with children. 

 

“I love you,” Ronan said. 

 

Adam huffed, although he felt the surprise heat build up in his face regardless. He should be more familiar with affection after nearly a decade with Ronan. 

 

“I know that,” Adam mumbled. 

 

“Then I wish I could love you enough to fill up the fucking deficit,” Ronan replied. 

 

Adam wished it worked like that. Wished it was that easy. Ronan had more than enough love in him, and he loved Adam with all of it. Ronan’s love, and loving Ronan, had changed Adam for the better, certainly. But it couldn’t fix what Adam had missed growing up. 

 

“For the fucking record,” Ronan said. “I think you would a good parent.” And he said nothing else on it. 

  
  


**Then**

 

_ The world was closing in on him. The room, the atmosphere, the very gravity of the universe itself was pressing in on him at all sides. This is how people died -- too much pressure and not enough air for their lungs.  _

 

_ “Hey. Hey.” A voice, as distant as the breeze outside, at his ear. Warm arms wrapping around him. A flat palm settled on his chest, right over his heart. “Just breathe with me. Just breathe. One slow inhale, come on…” _

 

_ Adam heaved in some air. It hurt, and it was only a little bit more than he had managed to suck in before, but that little bit more was enough to exhale slowly and try again.  _

 

_ So Adam worked through the panic attack with Ronan sitting behind him on the floor, holding him, talking into his ear. As the weird, keeling over, tense energy dissipated, he sank back against the steady weight of Ronan’s chest.  _

 

_ “What happened?” Ronan asked. “When you’re ready…” _

 

_ Adam let out a measured breath. His body was still trembling from the rush of it all.  _

 

_ “I got a phone call,” Adam said. Earlier. From a number he recognized instantly but rarely saw on his screen. “My dad. He’s dead.”   _

 

_ “Fuck,” Ronan said, more puff of air than word.  _

 

_ They had met in college, the two of them, well after Adam had left his hometown and parents behind him. Except for the thin thread connection to his mother, whose voice had been the one on the other side of the call.  _

 

_ Except for how he carried it every day, in the slope of his shoulders, in his stubborn but fragile pride.  _

 

_ “I started thinking about the funeral, and having to go back. And…” And the world had gone slanted, and he had sit down, right there in the middle of their unfinished living room floor before he fell over from the swell of vertigo.  _

 

_ “You don’t have to go back,” Ronan said. “You don’t have to anything you don’t want to do.”  _

 

_ “But I do,” Adam protested. “Everyone will expect… And my mom won’t be able handle all arrangements. Just thinking about it makes me sick, and --”  _

 

_ “Adam,” Ronan said, interrupting gently. “If you want to go back, I’ll support you. But you don’t owe them anything.”   _

 

_ Adam let his head sag forward, chin against his chest. The immense pressure in his chest eased. He didn’t have to. That knowledge might give him the strength to do it, ultimately. He didn’t have to. He didn’t owe them anything. He could rescind, change his mind, leave at any time. He wasn’t a minor anymore, trapped by circumstance.  _

 

_ They remained sitting in their strange embrace for while, until their heartbeats again matched pace.  _

  
  
  


**Now**

 

Adam layed in bed on Egyptian cotton sheets, under a down comforter, head haloed on a memory foam pillow. Beside him laid his incredibly handsome and loving husband. All this in a house of his ownership. Every day Adam went to a job he was passionate about and made a paycheck that still sometimes made his head spin with the number of digits lined up on the pay line. He was happy. 

 

His life was unrecognizable from his childhood, where he grew up in a dusty trailer park, counted out pennies for groceries, and lived in fear and resentment of his own parents.  

 

Ronan said Adam Parrish would be a good parent, but Adam could only imagine parenthood in negative, in all the things he wouldn’t do. 

 

Like how he would cut off his own hand before ever raising it to a child. 

 

Adam rolled over from his back to his side, but his pillow wasn’t anymore comforting at this angle. 

 

He would do all the things his parents had failed to do. He’d make the time, rearrange and tweak miniscule minutes to drive his child to school, to soccer games, to piano lessons, to play dates, to school pageants. He would help them with their homework, read bed times stories, have family movie night. He would pack lunches. He was stand behind them at the kitchen counter and teach them how to make scrambled eggs or spaghetti, and not get upset if they made a mess. He would ask them about their days when they were apart and actually listen to the answers. He would smooth bandaids over scraped knees and never once yell at them for shedding a tear. He would tell them he loved them, and make sure they knew it every day. 

 

He would construct a life for them, piece by piece. Build it, and maybe know that he was making one person’s world a little bit better by the end of it.  

 

That was what Adam Parrish had learned from his parents about parenthood, all the wrong way around. 

 

Adam rolled over in bed again, this time racing Ronan. His eyes were shut, but his breathing wasn’t that deep. 

 

Adam laid a hand on Ronan’s shoulder. 

 

“You awake?” he whispered. 

 

“... Half...” Ronan replied in a groggy wisp. 

 

Adam hated to wake him, knowing how he struggled with sleep. But still, he figured Ronan wouldn’t want to wait until morning to hear this. 

 

Adam said, “I think -- I think I might want to be a parent.”

  
  


**Later**

 

Time was passing strangely, in stops and starts, minutes skipping ahead and then stretching long. Anxiety whirled within the chasm of Adam’s chest. He didn’t think he’d ever been this nervous, not before his SATs, not before his job interviews, and not even before his own wedding. 

 

Ronan squeezed Adam’s hand. “You ready for this?” 

 

“No,” Adam said, but glanced his way. “But I wasn’t ready for you either.” 

 

A slash of a grin appeared on Ronan’s face, then there was a knock on the door and they were both at attention. 

 

Adam answered the front door and in entered the social worker they had pretty much become friends with by this point and, holding her hand, Opal. 

 

Social Services had trouble placing her long term. She had been acting out, which one might expect from a traumatized child. Ronan and Adam weren’t getting into this, -- being foster parents, going through adoption, parenthood itself -- anyway, because they thought it would be easy. They were doing it because they thought it would be right. 

 

Ronan squatted down to get to her eye level. “Hey, Opal. Remember me?” he said, in one of those impossible soft voices of his that made Adam’s heart just ache. 

 

The little girl blinked at him, all wide-eyes half hidden with her blonde hair pulled in front of her face. Then, the little girl let go of the social worker’s hand and dashed forward, latching her arms around Ronan’s neck, unbalancing him so he crashed onto his butt on the floor. 

 

“I think that’s a yes,” the social worker said around a little chuckle. 

 

Ronan ended up having to lift up Opal up, carry her, because she wouldn’t let go of his neck. 

 

“You hungry?” he asked her. It was around lunchtime. Opal was silent, and then she nodded into Ronan’s neck. Adam saw the back of her head bobbing. Ronan exited to the kitchen. 

 

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” the social worker said to Adam in the entry hall. “You know the deal. I’ll check in with you guys next week, and if you need something before then you have my number.” 

 

Adam saw her out, then he was left alone in the in the entryway. He sucked in a breath. He could do this. 

 

In the kitchen, Opal was seated on one of the counters as Ronan drifted around the kitchen area collecting the supplies for what looked like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, filling the air with gentle commentary. Adam stopped in the doorway. 

 

Ronan noticed him, caught his eye, then turned to Opal. “This is Adam,” he said with a point in his husband’s direction. “Remember, he brought you food the night I found you? I promise he’s really nice, even though he’s not as cool as you or me.” 

 

Adam waved, but the girl just eyed him suspiciously. A second later, she turned her attention back to Ronan, stuck out one hand, and said, shortly, “Food.” 

 

“Yeah, yeah. It’s coming,” Ronan grumbled, very him, and the girl gave no negative response to it. 

 

Watching Ronan being such a natural made all of Adam’s doubts well up again. Ronan could do this. It was plain before Adam’s eyes. 

 

It all went on like that. Ronan and Opal bounding while Adam watched from the edges. It wasn’t for Ronan’s lack of trying to get Adam involved, but Adam felt more comfortable on the boundaries. 

 

But then Ronan’s phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, checked the screen, and then actually answered. Which meant he knew who was calling and was of the few people that were important enough to demand his immediate attention, interrupting a situation like this. 

 

Leaving Opal coloring, Ronan pulled Adam aside. 

 

“That was the animal hospital. There’s an emergency. They need me.” 

 

“But…” 

 

Ronan took Adam by the shoulders. “You can do this. Alright. I’ll be back in a few hours, tops. If all else fails, just put on a movie.” 

 

“Great,” Adam said, not great. 

 

Ronan pressed a quick kiss to his check, then said in whisper, “You can fucking do it.” He said a quick goodbye to Opal, and then rushed out the door. 

 

Opal kept coloring at coffee table. When Adam sat down across from her, her eyes barely flickered to him, then back to the page. Adam tilted his head to look at her creation. 

 

“Do you like coloring?” he asked. 

 

The girl didn’t reply. 

 

Adam sagged. His knee bumped against a box of duplos, purchased for the purpose of having a child in the house but not yet used. Adam popped off the lid and set it on the table.  

 

“I’m not very good at drawing,” he said. He stuffed his hand into the box and pulled out a few blocks. “Ronan is, but I’m not.

 

He lined up two blocks and pressed a third crossing over on top, connecting them. 

“I’m good at building things.” He stacked another block on top of the third. 

 

Before he could add another, a little hand shot out quick and snatched up a brick. Opal pressed the block on top of the small tower. 

 

“How high do you think we can get it?” Adam asked.    
  
Opal pointed up.

 

“To the ceiling?” Adam question. 

 

She nodded. 

 

“I don’t know. That’s pretty high.” 

 

She scowled, her face adorable even as she screwed up her features. Grumpily, she said, “You said you were good at building things.” 

 

A puff of something strange -- relief, laughter, joy -- released from his chest. She had spoken to him.

 

Two hours later, when Ronan got home, all of the couch cushions, two bedroom’s worth of pillows, and half the linen closet’s worth of sheets had been confiscated and reconfigured in the living room into an epic fort filling most of the living room. 

 

“What’s going on in here?” 

 

Opal squealed and darted out of the fort, causing a minor collapse of the left wall. She latched around Ronan’s knees. 

 

“We made a fort!” she announced. 

 

“Oh, yeah?” 

 

With more care and at a slower speed, Adam ducked out from under out of the sheet flaps covering a passageway. He climbed to his feet with a little groan of age. 

 

“Looks like you usurped my role as cool parent,” Ronan said, as he ruffled Opal’s hair. She hadn’t let go of his legs yet. 

 

“Shut up,” Adam replied, pleased. 

 

“No,” Ronan said. “I’m not leaving you alone for as long as I live.” 

 

“Promise?” Adam asked. 

 

“Promise.”  

  
****


End file.
